Glamorous
by Captainraychill
Summary: Draco Malfoy owns a mysterious shop that sells high-quality, custom-made glamours. Hermione Granger visits one sweltering night with a secret and a special request.


**Draco Malfoy owns a mysterious shop that sells high-quality, custom-made glamours. Hermione Granger visits one sweltering night with a secret and a special request.**

**Warnings: ** Profanity, mild sexual content

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to my wonderful, fabulous beta, UnseenLibrarian. Love you!

**Disclaimer:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**GLAMOROUS**

* * *

**The Shop Without a Name**

Draco Malfoy's shop in Diagon Alley transformed depending on the desires of its patrons and their need for discretion. It didn't have a sign. It didn't even have a name.

Hermione had only visited it once, last October, to purchase a glamour for the Ministry's Annual Masquerade Ball. She, Ginny and Luna had carried their gilt-edged invitations, having heard a rumor that no one could enter Malfoy's exclusive shop without one. They soon realized that the shop was so exclusive as to be invisible without an invitation.

"That was not there yesterday," Ginny said, staring at the elegant storefront at the end of the cobbled street.

"No, it wasn't," Hermione whispered.

She didn't wonder why she'd never seen the shop before. Grimmauld Place and the Horcrux hunt had taught her a great deal about advanced Disillusionment. However, she did wonder why she'd never questioned the shop's _absence_ before. Malfoy had been in business for over six months. Hadn't he?

"Didn't Harry and his team inspect the shop right after it opened in April?" she asked. "Some anonymous tip about dark artifacts?"

"Hermione," Ginny said, as if speaking to a child. "The shop just opened last week."

"That's not true," Luna said. "I came here with my Dad a year ago. Of course, it looked quite different then. It didn't have any doors or windows."

Hermione gazed at the shop's midnight blue door. Radiant, stained-glass windows framed it, glowing in jewel tones of emerald, ruby and sapphire. The forms crafted by the tesserae of glass swirled with movement. She watched, fascinated, as a glass woman donned a white-feathered mask and became a swan. A second later, the swan's wings flared, and it became an angel brandishing a golden sword. The beauty and intricacy of the charms were breathtaking.

It was intriguing and somewhat poetic that a place that sold sophisticated, couture glamours would itself be shrouded in mystery, disguise and deceit. How many other facades did Malfoy's shop don, like masks? What other services did he provide?

The next day, Hermione couldn't remember the interior of the shop. All she knew was that she'd spent a small fortune on a magnificent glamour that transformed her into part-phoenix. She'd entered the ballroom, more captivating than a Veela, reveling in the exotic light of her fiery wings and hair. Feathers of hypnotic flame masked her face and blended perfectly with her red, silk gown.

That night, on a balcony, she'd snogged a brown-haired man dressed as a masked Roman solider. His kisses had been shockingly arousing, adding an intense heat to the phoenix flames all around her. She had almost abandoned all restraint and given herself to him until she'd felt his fingers unbuttoning the back of her gown and his palms sliding down her spine. Panicked, she'd cast a Confundus and run away. She couldn't let him see the hideous mark on her back. She had yet to find a glamour powerful enough to cover it.

The next day, she was certain, through deduction, that her centurion was Terry Boot, a fact she chose to keep from Terry Boot and his wife. She felt so ashamed. It was rare for her to give into her wilder impulses, to allow herself to be swept away by passion or anger. But when she did… Yet another reason not to overindulge in Firewhiskey.

After the masquerade, she could no longer see Malfoy's shop. Ginny and Luna seemed to forget its existence entirely, but Hermione remembered because she thought about it frequently.

She wondered what other concealments Malfoy sold. She heard whispers in corridors - that he'd invented a Polyjuice that endured a week, that he'd found a way to hide his Dark Mark. She became aware (and why hadn't she realized _this_ before?) that no one had actually _seen_ Draco Malfoy in years. She, herself, hadn't seen him since graduation, six years earlier. The man was as mysterious as his shop.

On nights when she felt low and lonely, Hermione would strip off her clothes before a mirror. She would pull her long hair aside and stare over her shoulder at the mark on her back, flushing pink with mortification. Could she make herself this vulnerable to Draco Malfoy? He was obviously discreet, but would he extend that professional courtesy to her? Or would he mock her? Would he laugh?

By summertime, she'd made her decision.

* * *

**An Invitation**

She relied on the omniscience of owl post to find him. Her letter was brief and vague.

_To Draco Malfoy's Shop,_

_I need assistance covering a mark. Absolute discretion is essential. _

_Hermione Granger_

She had sent Hermes before breakfast on a Saturday and was shocked to receive a response within the hour. A square, black envelope – no larger than her piece of toast - was attached the owl's leg with a silky, black ribbon. The paper was heavy, as soft as velvet and as black as ink. She ran her thumb over the subtle embossing, which read _Diagon Alley_, also in black.

She remembered Malfoy's sneer. How he'd laughed at her bushy hair and bucked teeth. How he'd called her a Mudblood.

_I can't trust him. I can't do this._

She spent the day ignoring the black card on her kitchen table. In the morning, she tended the flower beds around her cottage as Crookshanks chased garden gnomes. In the afternoon, made drowsy by the summer sun, she lay in her hammock, reading and napping. She ate a turkey sandwich for dinner. As she washed her plate, her eyes were drawn to the card again.

_What's wrong with you? You're a Gryffindor._

"It doesn't hurt to be careful," she muttered as she undressed for bed. "You can always go tomorrow."

_If the shop's open on Sunday…_

Hermione woke up, at five minutes of midnight, in a sweaty panic. What if Malfoy's invitation had an expiration? What if it was useless after the clock struck twelve, like something out of a fairy tale? What if she'd missed her only chance? Stumbling out of bed, she threw on knickers, a red sundress and sandals before picking up her wand. Without thinking about make-up or even combing her sleep-tousled hair, she ran into the kitchen, snatched up the black card and Apparated directly into the center of Diagon Alley.

It was dark, eerily quiet and still hot from the sweltering, summer day. She cast a Lumos and saw that Malfoy's shop had returned at the end of the street. It looked different than before, as crooked and ancient as the buildings that flanked it. At first, she only saw a high, lamp-lit window, but as she walked closer, a door slowly appeared. It was a deep, rich red trimmed in brass. In the center was a knocker shaped like a lion's head.

Clearly, she was expected.

When she lifted the ring in the lion's mouth and rapped twice, the door opened to reveal a small, circular room paneled with dark, carved wood. A spiral staircase twisted from the marble floor, up through a pale, blue ceiling. A tiny, painted Golden Snitch fluttered across the false sky. Taking a slow breath to calm her racing heart, she summoned her bravery and walked up the staircase.

* * *

**Hermione's Secret**

When Hermione saw Draco Malfoy rising from the chair behind a large desk, she realized the staircase had made her dizzy. And had given her butterflies in her stomach. Or perhaps that was her nerves. She gripped the banister as he walked toward her.

The second level of the shop was a great room that spoke of ancient and effortless luxury. Its bones - high ceilings, dark wood and a marble fireplace - were overlaid almost casually with soft carpets, antique furniture and medieval tapestries. Malfoy crossed the space with a confident stride. He wore the same sort of austere, black suit and trim hairstyle he'd favored since sixth year. He was still tall and lean, with broad shoulders and sharp features, but now he seemed more handsome. More powerful. His own master instead of a slave, Hermione thought.

"Granger. Welcome," he said, reaching his hand out toward her, palm up.

"Malfoy."

She placed her hand in his, unsure of his intention. When they touched, the butterflies in Hermione's stomach began to flutter madly, and she felt her face flushing. This was _attraction_, which was ridiculous. She cast her eyes down and noticed Malfoy's black shoes, which were as shiny as ebony piano keys. In sandals, with red toenails, she felt woefully underdressed. Malfoy held her hand in a courtly fashion as he led her across the room. He waited for her to sit on a green, velvet sofa before joining her. Then he released her hand and provided her with a conjured cup of tea before getting right to the point.

"I want to assure you," he said, "that nothing said or seen or done within this room will ever leave it."

"Good," Hermione said. "Thank you."

"I also want to say that I'm glad you're here. I've been waiting for this chance."

Puzzled, Hermione gazed up at Malfoy. His gray eyes, his expression – they were almost earnest. She wondered what he meant.

"Waiting for what chance?" she asked.

"This chance," he murmured. Hermione felt his fingertips stroke the soft skin inside her left forearm. Her teacup rattled on its saucer as she gasped at the hot sensation that swept through her. She looked down and saw his pale fingers against the faint scar – the word – that his aunt had carved into her skin on his drawing room floor.

"Granger, I'm sorry."

For some reason, she couldn't stop staring at his fingers on her skin. They were mesmerizing. She heard her breath quicken, and then she heard _his_ breath quicken, and she wondered, wildly, what she would do if he slipped his fingers around her arm and pulled her closer. Instead, he removed his touch. She wondered how many times Draco Malfoy had apologized in his life.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him. "Thank you for saying that, but this mark doesn't bother me anymore. It's not why I'm here."

"You have another scar?" His brow furrowed. "From the war?"

"Not exactly from the war."

"Where is it?"

"On – on my back."

After a long pause, Malfoy said, "I'll need to see it."

Hermione's teacup rattled again. She took a long sip and then made a study of the silver line painted around the rim of the porcelain. It was almost certainly real silver.

"Let me explain first," she said softly.

"Of course."

But she had absolutely no idea how to begin. Every path seemed fraught with peril and humiliation. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. Then she opened her mouth, and rubbish came out.

"One night… It was after Ron and I… Well, I had been… I…"

She sounded stupid, so she lapsed into silence again. Malfoy would laugh at her, and she couldn't stand the shame. It was as simple as that. It had been a mistake to seek him out.

"Hermione," he whispered. He touched her again, this time the lightest possible touch on her knee. His fingertips burned her skin and sent a jolt of desire straight to her abdomen.

"It's nothing!" she cried out. "Never mind."

She threw her empty tea cup and saucer straight up into the air as she rose to flee. Draco swatted them away and grabbed one of her wrists before she had taken two steps. She heard the china land on the carpet with a heavy thunk as he stood up and pulled her closer in one, smooth move. She found herself staring up at him and wondering why he was glaring at her.

"Granger," he said imperiously as he captured her other wrist. "Tell me why you came here."

"No!"

"Say the first words that pop into your head."

"What?"

"Now!" he bellowed in her face.

"Tramp stamp!" Hermione screamed back.

She gasped as Draco's eyes went wide with disbelief. Tricky Slytherin! He'd shocked her into confessing. If her hands had been free, she would have clapped them both over her mouth. Or slapped him. Instead, she closed her eyes and bowed her head so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze.

"What did you say?" he asked softly.

"You heard me, Draco Malfoy," she snapped. "I have a tramp stamp, a slag tag, a tattoo on my lower back! It's absolutely horrible, and I can't _believe_ I just told you that!"

"A tramp stamp?" She heard curiosity in his voice. "This is an interesting development."

He released one of her wrists and placed his hand against her lower back - right over the awful tattoo - urging her even closer. Her eyes snapped open as her breasts brushed against his chest. She began to struggle in his embrace.

"Let me go," she demanded.

"Show it to me."

"No, it's embarrassing."

"Is it a butterfly?" he asked, with a touch of disdain.

"Don't make me vomit."

"Come on then, Granger. If it's not a trite butterfly, it can't be so bad. I swear I won't tell anyone. You require absolute discretion, and I can promise that."

His voice had gentled and so had his touch. He was caressing the sway of her spine, with its secret ink, in a way that lulled her into a hypnotized stillness. He smelled sinfully good, and she just wanted to rest her cheek against his fine jacket and breathe him in.

"And perhaps I can help," he said. "Perhaps I can hide it." He lifted their joined hands. "Look at my Mark, Granger."

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione slipped her hand out of Draco's. She fumbled with the silver cufflink at his wrist. She had never handled one before, and Draco waited patiently as she worked the bar through the holes in his black shirt. The cuff opened, revealing his pale wrist. When Hermione slid her fingers inside the linen, over his blue veins, she heard his sharp intake of breath. She felt his pulse beating fast and strong beneath her touch. Why did it feel so right to be near him? Slowly, she pulled down the fabric of his shirt and jacket to reveal the smooth, unmarred skin of his left forearm.

"Draco," she said. She ran her fingertips over the place his Dark Mark should have been. "That's amazing. It's still there, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, his voice rough. "Would you like me to reveal it?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "You don't have to."

"If I can cover mine," he said, "then I can cover yours. I'm certain of it." Now, both his hands were warm against her lower back, soothing her with tender strokes. Suddenly, with absolute certainty, Hermione knew she could trust him.

"Do you promise not to laugh?" she asked.

"I can't promise that. What if it's a dancing banana in a Dumbledore hat?"

Hermione burst out into laughter at the image, unable to control herself.

"See," Draco said, smiling. "I couldn't _not_ laugh in that case. Now, turn around."

Hermione gazed up into Draco's eyes, her heart pounding so hard that she thought she might crack a rib. She lowered her eyes until she was staring at the front of his shirt. Then she turned her back to him, feeling vulnerable and anxious as she waited for him to unbutton her dress. As she felt the heat of his body behind her, she remembered her great mass of bushy hair.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "It's a fright. Allow me." She reached up, with both hands, to twist her hair up and hold it over one shoulder, baring the nape of her neck and the back of her dress to Draco. "Better?" she asked.

"Yes."

Hermione waited for what seemed like an eternity of anticipation before she felt Draco's fingertips brushing the skin between her shoulder blades. The butterflies in her stomach returned with a fluttering vengeance as he slowly unbuttoned her dress. She hadn't been touched this intimately since the masquerade. When Draco realized she wasn't wearing a bra, he made a sound low in his throat. Closing her eyes, Hermione swayed forward and reached out for the arm of the green, velvet sofa.

She knew the exact moment that Draco revealed to top of her tattoo. His hands stilled, at the dip of her spine. She held her breath, growing tense and fearful as she waited for his judgment.

"It's you," he whispered.

"What?"

Draco whipped Hermione around to face him, his hands gripping her upper arms and his eyes burning with intense focus. He stared at her chin, her breasts, her lips and finally into wide eyes. What was he searching for?

"You're her," Draco said.

He moved with speed and aggression. One moment he was practically glaring at Hermione. The next, he was kissing her. She felt her feet lift off the ground and Draco's strong arms hold her close. One of his hands clutched her arse, and the other one reached through the tangle of her hair to cradle the naked skin of her back. When his tongue tasted hers, Hermione whimpered. She slipped easily from shock into lust, losing herself in sensation - shivers and heat and the keen ache of arousal. When she twined her arms around Draco's neck and kissed him back, a wild, magical energy crackled between them. She had felt this enchantment before.

This wasn't the first time she'd kissed Draco Malfoy.

"My phoenix," he murmured between desperate kisses.

_My Roman soldier._

"I thought you were Terry Boot," Hermione whispered.

"I thought you were Countess Tessica Von Wirkle."

"W-who?" She sounded like a startled owl as Draco tilted her until she felt the velvet of the sofa against her bared back.

"A German countess, seventy years old. Devon insisted he sold the phoenix glamour to her."

"Who's Devon?"

"My shop assistant and a total idiot. Hermione, if I'd known it was you…"

Draco kissed her again, his body covering hers, lips to toes, as he pressed her back into velvet. She gasped as he moved his hips, snuggling between her legs until his erection pressed, hot and firm, against her pussy through thin layers of summer clothing. She welcomed him, spreading her legs and arching up. She gripped her fingers in his hair, and he moaned. She loved the erotic sound and realized she wanted to make him lose all control.

Then she remembered the last time she had almost lost all control, at the masquerade.

She turned her head, moving her lips away from Draco's. He kissed a path along her cheekbone and licked the curve of her ear before gently biting her earlobe. All the nervous butterflies inside her began to burn, their delicate wings smoldering. Hermione trembled with need. She was so tempted to surrender, body and soul, to these lush feelings. Her hands moved to Draco's shoulders. Instead of exploring the masculine strength of his back, as she so fervently wished to, she placed her palms on his biceps and held very still.

"What is it?" he whispered in her ear, and Hermione shivered.

"Draco, I have to know. Are you married? Are you in a relationship with anyone?"

She felt his cheek brush against her cheek and realized he was smiling.

"No," he said, shaking his head, nuzzling her. "I've never been married, and I haven't been in a relationship for two years. Although I _was_ tempted to pursue the Countess Von Wirkle. She's a widow, you know. And I've always wanted a title."

"She could be your grandmother," Hermione scolded.

"She would be stunning with a well-applied youth glamour."

"Don't even think about it, Malfoy. You're mine."

Draco's pale eyes glittered with pleasure at the possessive tone of her voice. "Granger, I am not just some male sex object you can - "

"_Inverso_!"

Hermione cast the Flipping Spell, a fantastic tool for close combat.

With a flash of blue light and a dizzying feeling, she and Draco's positions were reversed. He now lay with his back on the sofa, and she was above him, straddling him and smiling at the stunned expression on his face. It was her turn to dominate him with a roll of her hips and her hands on his chest. She was absolutely delighted when Draco grasped her thighs and pressed up against her, his eyes closing and his mouth falling open in silent pleasure.

"You were saying something about sex?" she asked sweetly.

When Draco's eyes opened, they were dark with sensual purpose. He pulled down the straps and the top of Hermione's sundress to reveal her bare breasts. As she leaned down, into another blissful kiss, the butterflies in her stomach met their violent end, bursting into flame. She felt like a phoenix again and gave very little thought to the giant squid tattooed on her lower back in black, magically indelible ink.

Or the tattooed banner between it and her arse, which boldly read, _Fuck you, bitches, I'm Hermione Granger!_

* * *

**The Tale of the Squid**

"Granger," Draco said much later, as he kissed her squid. "Whatever possessed you?"

Hermione sighed at the rapturous feeling of his lips on her back. They were naked and entwined on the green, velvet sofa. "Jealousy, rage, competitive spirit," she answered. "Firewhiskey."

"Go on."

"You'll laugh at me, but I really was very much in love with Ron."

"You're right. That is absurd."

"I was. But it just didn't work out on one very important level." _A level which works quite spectacularly with you_, Hermione thought as she remembered the masterful way Draco had brought her to orgasm over and over. "So, Ron and I split. Mutually, amicably – but it broke my heart."

"Then what?" Draco asked, moving his lips down her spine to her tattooed banner. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was tracing the words with his tongue.

"Then he started dating Lavender Brown again," she said. "Nine days after we broke up. He and I had agreed to stay friends, no matter what, so he felt obliged to tell me all about their romance. Including his fascination with her tattoo."

"A tramp stamp."

"Yes – a sweet, little, glittery, magical, _lavender_ butterfly on her lower back. He would not stop going on about how sexy it was. I mean, I'm his ex. Have some sensitivity. But he wouldn't shut up."

"So one night when you were drunk…" Draco prompted.

"Exactly," she said, blinking. She found it almost impossible to concentrate as his fingertips stroked her tentacles. "One night, I was out with Ginny, and, as I mentioned, there was Firewhiskey involved. And my philosophy degenerated to _fuck them_."

"Fuck them. You're Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I'm Hermione Granger, and I'll show you what a real tattoo looks like."

Draco laughed and embraced Hermione from behind, pulling her back against him. She gasped when she felt his erection prodding against her bum. She wiggled and was rewarded with a gentle bite on the side of her neck that made her whole body shiver. She loved how insatiable he was, how playful. In her heart, she knew that she could trust him with her secret. And perhaps with much more. Draco Malfoy was a mystery she couldn't wait to unravel.

"And did you show them?" he asked, still nibbling on her neck. "What a real tattoo looks like?"

"Oh, God, no! I even Obliviated Ginny and the artist. No one's seen this but me – and now you."

"I'm glad you have such distinctive markings, Granger. I saw your tentacles when you ran away, at the masquerade. Without them, I wouldn't have known you were my phoenix."

Hermione had never been so pleased with a mistake in her entire life. Her dreadful tramp stamp had led her to this wonderful position – Draco's hand on her breast, his prick sliding between her thighs and his kisses driving her breathlessly mad with desire. She almost forgot her purpose in seeking him out. Almost.

"So can you conceal it?" she asked.

"If you wish. Or I can alter it. In fact…"

Again, Draco moved with speed and aggression. He might as well have cast a variation of the Flipping Spell. With a shriek, Hermione found herself suddenly turned over his lap, arse up, as if he were about to spank her.

He had better not!

Her instinct to struggle calmed when Draco's warm palm swept across the upper swell of her bottom, over the lowest portion of her tattoo. He whispered an incantation, and she felt a cool tingle travel up her spine before fading away.

"That had better not be a butterfly," Hermione warned.

"Don't make me vomit."

"It's a dancing banana in a Dumbledore hat, isn't it?"

"No," Draco said, laughing. "See for yourself."

He didn't swat her bum, as she'd expected him to. He simply levitated a nearby chair, transfigured it into a silver-framed mirror and waited. Hermione stood up awkwardly and walked to the mirror. She turned, pulled her long hair aside and stared over her shoulder to see the changes he'd made to her tattoo.

The giant squid remained. However, its suckers were now shaped like hearts, and the banner underneath it read _Glamorous Sex Goddess Hermione Granger_.

"What do you think?" Draco asked.

She approved. But she hid her grin, turning left and then right, pretending to study her backside from different angles as Draco watched with a hot gaze. Finally, she placed her hands on her hips and turned to face him in all her naked and divine glory.

"I think that if I'm a glamorous sex goddess," she said regally, "then it's time you worshipped me… again."

Draco smiled as he transfigured their sofa into a bed. He was more than willing to comply. After all, it wouldn't do to anger a goddess.

**THE END**

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Thank you for reading! Reviews are welcomed. :)


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